On The Exhale
by MG12CSI16
Summary: "It wouldn't change much; I've always been a better lover than him, a better listener too. I don't see why adding husband to the list would be any different." Just some Sandle that needed to be written.


Eh, I don't know. I just felt like I needed to write this. It's been forever since I've written Sandle. I miss them.

I own nothing because if I did I wouldn't have to write stuff like this.

* * *

**On The Exhale**

It humors him that even as he watches her with makeup smearing her pale cheeks and her brown hair tangled in knots he still finds her unnaturally beautiful. Watching her from afar he sees how vulnerable she is, how fragile she looks. It's unnerving. Her breaths leave her lips as gasps and ragged sobs, her hands doing little to keep him from seeing the pain on her face and the desperation in her stormy eyes as she buries her head in them. He thinks about making his presence known, but he's completely engrossed in watching her and he can't make the words leave his lips.

He shifts on his feet and the floorboard beneath him creaks, the sound becoming nothing more than a whisper in the almost silent house. It's enough to catch her attention though and Sara snaps her head up and meets his gaze with doe eyes before scrambling to her feet. She's got her back pressed against the wall, reminding him of a caged animal. If he gets any closer he may risk being bitten.

"What are you doing here?" she questions, wiping furiously at her red eyes. He blows out a breath and fumbles with the button on his blue shirt, finally shrugging his shoulders. He wonders if he should have rung the bell.

"Not sure," he finally drawls, because if he's being honest he's not. It earns him a sigh of exasperation and she whips past him, the scent of lilac and lemons trailing after her. It sends a chill through him and he aches for the feel of her skin.

Greg follows her to the kitchen and watches her furiously scrub at her coffee mug from this morning, her universal sign for being in distress. He's not sure why but that's what she does, she shuts out the world and cleans until everything is spotless. By now he's lost track of how many times he's sat and watched her; she never allows him to help.

"What did he do this time?" he asks out of nowhere, watching her wince as his words sink in. He knows without having to ask that it has something to do with her husband, and her reaction does nothing but confirm his guess. She stops scrubbing, hands submerged in the soapy water and turns her eyes on him. They're still filled with tears and unanswered questions.

"Same thing he always does," she sighs, "cancelled his trip home. He said things were going to be different but I guess I shouldn't expect anything."

"But you do," he says, quirking an eyebrow, "You always do… When are you going to give in and see that he's no good for you?" he surprises himself with his boldness, his voice tumbling past his lips before he can stop it. Sara looks up again and fixes him with a glare that could melt the ice caps.

"You would like that wouldn't you?" She spits. A smile tugs at his lips and he stands up with his hands shoved deep in the pockets of his favorite blue jeans. She holds her breath as Greg approaches her from behind, his breath hitting the back of her neck.

"It wouldn't change much; I've always been a better lover than him, a better listener too. I don't see why adding husband to the list would be any different." His voice is cocky, confident. It hides the doubt that flashes in his hazel eyes and the hard ache that settles in the pit of his stomach.

He can hear Sara sigh delicately beneath his touch, lips tracing the delicate contours of her neck and jaw before finding her lips and capturing them in a kiss. Familiarity runs through them and they slowly melt into each other, finding comfort in each other's bodies.

He smirks as they pull away and Sara refuses to look at him. Her face is hidden in his broad chest as she wraps her arms around him and her hands travel up his back. He feels like home. He feels safe.

"You know this is how it's supposed to be," he breathes. Yes, she knows. She feels as though a part of her has always known, it just wouldn't admit it. She fell for the man she felt she was supposed to be with, not the one she deserved.

She answers him with another kiss, her back pressed into the counter and arching slightly. He's got fingers tangled in her unruly curls and she caresses his cheek with a delicate hand, their lips colliding as if today was the first time they had ever seen each other. Suddenly she pulls away again and brings her lips to his ear.

"Make love to me Greg," the breathy request sends a tremor through him, lips curling into a smile. He picks her up and lets her long legs wrap around his waist. He carries her as if she's fragile, made of glass. As he reaches the bedroom he kisses her cheek, letting his lips linger for a moment as he breathes her in like oxygen.

All of a sudden life as it is seems to have stopped. It's now filled with soft skin and wandering hands, goose bumps and swollen red lips. They take comfort in the warmth of each other and the soft moans that escape their lips as their hips buck in desperation. She can see past the darkness for once.

They're lost in ecstasy, tangled in each other as they reach the peak before falling off the edge. Greg's name tears from her throat and it feel so natural and right. As he flops back onto his side of the bed Sara shifts, resting her head on his chest and listening to the faint beat of his heart. He traces patterns on her back as he kisses her hair, holding on to the moment.

"I love you Sara. I hope you know that." His husky voice was low in her ear and the words had her holding on to her sanity by a thread. In her head she knew she had made the wrong decision, letting her mind decide over her heart. Smiling into his skin she felt her heart swell, knowing that in the end she had realized her mistake before it was too late.

Greg was always the answer, even if she was just to blind to see it.


End file.
